


Christmas in Paris

by jtt



Category: Highlander - All Media Types, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Highlander Holiday Short Cuts Challenge, Highlander Immortals, Watchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 17:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13036260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jtt/pseuds/jtt
Summary: Joe invites his Immortal friends to Christmas dinner with his daughter, Amy. Three Immortals versus two Watchers, sort of... Methos is such a wannabe Watcher. Why didn't Methos ever erase himself from the Watcher Chronicles and just why was Joe assigned to watch MacLeod?





	Christmas in Paris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everyone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyone/gifts).



“Joe, did you invite my assignment?” Amy asked her father, suddenly suspicious as she looked at the size of the meal Joe was making. They were in the kitchen of Joe Dawson’s Paris apartment.

“He's staying on my sofa,” Joe replied in explanation. That Methos was his house guest negated any possibility of Joe excluding him from dinner with his daughter on Christmas.

She looked pained, but not surprised and mumbled,“You'll get me in trouble.”

“Not if you don't tell on yourself.”

“I suppose you were going to inform me once I noticed you needed help cooking rather more vegetables than two people tend to consume?” she couldn't help saying in exasperation.

“Mac and Amanda will be here, too, by the way.”

There was a clank as Amy dropped a spoon. She then asked seriously, “Are you trying to prepare me to replace you as the liaison to Immortals who know about us?”

“Isn't that the usual way things are done? Six or seven generations in succession of your mom's family have Watched the same Immortal or had the same admin position. No elections back then, you know,” he reminded her. “MacLeod, Methos, and even Amanda... are some of my best friends. Is it wrong to want someone I trust to look after them when I'm gone?”

“I'm not certain I fancy inheriting Immortals,” Amy admitted before adding ruefully, “But it may be the only way to keep up with Methos.”

There was a knock on the door and Joe left to open it with Amy reluctantly in tow. MacLeod and Amanda stood there holding gifts of cheese and loaves of bread.

“Happy Christmas, Joe,” said Duncan MacLeod. “And Amy,” he added with a polite nod to Joe’s daughter standing back by the table.

Amanda greeted Joe with a kiss on the cheek, but was wary in front of Amy which was likely the best anyone could hope for given Amanda’s fractious record with Watchers… who weren’t Joe that is.

“Merry Christmas,” Joe answered as Mac helped Amanda off with her coat.

“Nice to meet you, Amy-Watcher-daughter-of-Joe,” she said the last words together quickly in one breath.

“Amanda,” whispered Mac in embarrassment, but she ignored him.

Amy apparently found her courage and held out a hand, “Nice to meet you, too.”

Amanda raised one eyebrow, but shook the offered hand. That seemed to be the extent of what Amy could do for the moment and with a mumbled, “I'll just…” she abruptly relieved Amanda of the package of cheeses and took them to the tiny kitchen in the next room.

MacLeod followed her with the bread, but not without giving Amanda a warning look.

“All we need now is for the eighth wonder of the world to return with the wine,” Joe said and looked at his watch. “It shouldn't take him this long to get back from my bar.”

“Can't you ring him?” asked Amanda.

Joe sighed. “If I knew his number.”

“I have it.”

“Wait, what?”

“I'll call him for you,” she offered.

Joe looked stunned and said, “Even Mac doesn't have Methos' cell phone number.”

“Are you sure?” she asked and dug her phone out her purse. 

Rather than argue the matter, Joe returned to the kitchen and put MacLeod and Amy to work ferrying food to the table. Amanda's phone conversation was audible even from inside the kitchen making it impossible not to overhear her end the call.

“Don't dilly-dally, Methos,” she teased in an affectionate tone. “But remember to…” She abruptly stared at the phone in her hand, “He hung up!”

“Aye, he's probably tossing his mobile into the Seine as we speak,” MacLeod commented in exasperation as he placed a bowl of potatoes on the table. At Amanda's confused look he added, “Would simply smashing it be enough to make it untraceable or would running a car over it be better? ” MacLeod glanced over at Amy hovering awkwardly near the kitchen doorway holding a gravy boat. It wasn’t clear if he was asking Amy the question directly or not.

Amanda continued to be puzzled for another second before comprehension spread across her face at what she'd done. She'd addressed Methos by his real name. Amanda hardly breathed as she looked over and met Amy's eyes.

“I'm dead,” she squeaked.

“Maybe a street sweeper, flushing it down a toilet...” continued Mac.

“MacLeod!”

Finally taking pity on her he said, “He couldn't know you were talking in front of a Watcher and I don't think they tap into the GPS system. Besides, the Watchers already found Methos out, Amanda.”

“Really?” asked Amanda with a sigh of relief. “He has a stalker like the rest of us now?”

“A team of Watchers follow Methos around actually,” he revealed. “Amy is one of them.”

“How embarrassing. No wonder he didn't mention it.”

MacLeod nodded smiling wryly back at her as they were interrupted by the sound of an electric knife in the kitchen.

“Why did you look so shocked when I said his name?” she asked Amy who hadn’t budged during Mac’s explanation.

“I've never heard anyone but Joe order Methos around like that.”

“Order what?” came Joe’s voice as he paused carving the turkey. “I’ve got enough food.”

No one answered him for Amanda and MacLeod suddenly turned as they sensed an Immortal approaching. The front door opened and Methos rushed in with a blast of cold air. MacLeod's greeting was muffled as Methos shoved his clinking bags into MacLeod’s arms.

Without a word, Methos stepped back out and a moment later returned brushing ice off his mobile phone and rapidly trying to dry it on his sleeve. “Hello, Mac, Amanda. I slipped in a puddle,” Methos' said by way of explanation. “Nearly dropped the beer, too. Think its salvageable?” He asked Amanda holding out his phone for her inspection.

“Not sure,” she replied blinking at it dripping on the carpet.

“Shut the door!” Joe shouted from the kitchen.

Methos nudged the door closed and shrugged off his coat. The sword hidden in the lining knocked into the other two coat covered swords making them sway on the hooks. “Hello, Amy,” he said in a friendly tone. “Wyatt and Zoll off work for the holiday or were you promoted?”

She glanced back through the kitchen doorway to give Joe a pleading look. He shrugged his shoulders in response. It was her decision how she handled this.

“Hoping they were reassigned, are you?” Amy asked primly instead.

“Not at all, better the devil or Watcher you know,” he said with a smile.

For a moment, Methos looked to be in real danger of wearing the gravy. Then Amy huffed and placed the dish on the table, sparing Joe's carpet. 

Puzzled at the interaction between Methos and Amy, Amanda asked, “Why do you like the Watchers, Methos?”

Methos evaded the question by saying, “You like Joe.”

“Joe's different. I mean, when you were hiding as one, I thought it was pretty devious of you, a way to get them back,” answered Amanda. “But you actually like the Watchers.”

“No need to sound so accusatory,” he defended himself. “Watcher bases are safer than holy ground.”

“Didn't look safe when you helped me break into their headquarters,” she argued. “Your boss nearly took your head.”

“And how do you explain Horton and the Hunters?” MacLeod added.

“Aberrations. Watchers aren't normally like that. Amy tell them.”

“When did you and Amanda break into our headquarters?” she shot back instead.

“Great help you are,” Methos mumbled before giving up and saying, “I could read the chronicles any time, talk about Immortals to anyone, and not worry an Immortal might show up. Better than holy ground,” Methos reiterated.

Amanda made a little noise of frustration even as she smiled at him and said mockingly, “You've got it bad.”

“Don't compare this to a love affair,” he protested. “Before I met you lot, being a Watcher was great.”

“Ever marry a Watcher?” Amanda asked suddenly.

Methos hesitated at the unexpected question.

“Oh, you have!” she guessed sounding a little surprised.

“I admire how the Watchers preserve history,” Methos said, deflecting. 

“It's just their methods that are creepy.”

“Regrettable,” said Methos in a correcting tone. “If it weren't for the Game, the spying would be unnecessary. Watchers and Immortals could be friends if they wanted. Right, Amy?”

Ignoring his question to her again, Amy pointedly asked with a glare, “How many times have you been a Watcher?”

Methos sighed in exasperation. 

“Joe's not so bad,” murmured MacLeod in the uncomfortable silence. “He's not nosy.”

It left them all pondering if Watchers and Immortals would actually be friends without the Game as Methos suggested. Certainly, they'd all imagined their lives without the Game, but how would the Watchers be different?

“Even if Immortals didn't threaten each other merely for existing,” decided MacLeod. “and relationships with friends and lovers – mortal and Immortal – were safer, we'd still keep ourselves a secret.”

Amanda nodded, “Exactly, if Quickenings were rare, would Watchers exist at all? Isn't that how they find us? Witnessing challenges?”

The three Immortals looked at Amy. Put on the spot, she answered, “Not always. Some of the most thorough chronicles were written by those raised by Immortals or grew up as siblings with them before they became Immortal.”

“You recruit Immortals’ adopted families?”

“If the Immortal has abandoned them or lost their head in the Game,” said Amy more boldly now as they debated. “Yes.”

“But would Watchers still secretly follow us around if the Game didn't exist?”

“You mean remain hidden from us without the Game?” MacLeod asked Amanda. 

“Yes, instead of presenting new Immortals with a lonely, deadly future in the Game,” said Amanda. “Would we introduce them to a mortal group that helps you hide your Immortality and by the way, would like to interview you about your life from time to time if you are willing. No spying.”

Even without the Game, explaining their Immortality to mortals was difficult and there was always the fear of rejection. With Watchers though, there was no need to explain anything. Watchers made it their job to keep Immortals a secret from the rest of the world at great personal risk, not just keep chronicles. 

“Perhaps fewer Immortals would become evil if they weren't alone or persecuted generation after generation,” MacLeod speculated. 

“Without the fear that one Immortal will rule the world, Hunters like Horton wouldn't exist,” said Amy.

“Would all Watchers be like Joe though?” MacLeod wanted to know. “Listening when you need to talk, but only write down what you consent.”

“No,” Methos said, shattering MacLeod's pretty fantasy. “Joe's superiors think he lets you loose like parents who allow their child to play in a busy street. Someday he'll retire and you'll be shocked to catch some kid digging through your rubbish bin and reading your mail, MacLeod.”

Amanda and MacLeod looked both appalled. She asked, “They don't actually do that, do they?”

“No!” protested Amy.

“Well, not all of them,” admitted Methos with a side glance at the affronted Amy. “Mac, have you ever wondered why a man walking on false legs was given a field position?”

“Yes,” MacLeod answered. “I didn't feel I ought to ask.”

Joe couldn't run, making keeping up or quick concealment almost impossible when tracking a dangerous Immortal on foot in the dark and MacLeod fought so many Immortals. Also, Joe was pretty grumpy the time they'd worked together staking out that blackmailer. A Watcher of Joe's experience ought to be accustomed to waiting for long hours with a pair of binoculars. Joe hadn't appeared used to it at all or perhaps was simply out of practice. He was excellent at picking up details many people wouldn't spot and had an insight into Immortal behavior that often surprised the Immortals around him. Joe didn't always follow MacLeod to Paris, especially when he wasn't going to be gone more than a few months. Joe hadn't tagged along when he and Amanda joined that circus in Moscow for a season either. If Joe assigned another Watcher to follow MacLeod in those times, he didn't mention it. 

“Why is a Watcher like Joe watching an Immortal like you?” Methos said and then answered his own question. “Because you used to be an easy assignment, MacLeod.

“You've resided in the same handful of cities for half a century, with your own name and kept yourself mostly out of the Game for much of the twentieth century. The only living assignments more boring than you were in 1979 are the Immortals who never leave holy ground...”

“Och!” MacLeod sputtered in indignation.

“... which describes both of Joe's previous assignments, by the way,” continued Methos. “I bet Joe was thrilled to have real work to do before you proved so consistent there was no point in checking in on you more than once a week. Only your predictability and Joe's later supervisor rank saved him from reassignment when you returned to the Game.”

“That's a relief,” MacLeod said in an uncertain tone.

“It is, isn't it? You'd never have met Joe otherwise. Even better, your friendship with him gained you more privacy. Joe didn't have to stalk you at all when you informed him what you were up to. Normally, Immortals very active in the Game are watched around the clock and there are no shortage of Watchers competing for field assignments. Taking temporary shifts is a good way for them to prove themselves.”

“Shifts, huh? And how many follow you about oh, elusive one? Besides Amy here.”

“Oi!” Amy sputtered at him.

Methos' only response was a grimace.

“Methos, why didn't you steal your own chronicles from the Watchers a long time ago so they'd forget you?” Amanda asked.

“Yes, why didn't you?” Joe echoed in agreement with her as he brought in a platter of sliced turkey. “Easier to hide if we didn't know you exist.”

“Watchers reconstruct destroyed or missing chronicles from copies. Ought I steal them all? Burn the buildings and destroy everyone's history?” asked Methos, his face unreadable and his tone flat.

“Well, when you put it that way...” MacLeod conceded.

Amanda wasn't buying it. “Why did you really let them keep a chronicle on you?” she repeated. “Pride, perhaps?”

“I'd like to know that as well,” said Amy.

Faced with a united front, Methos looked to be thinking very carefully about what he wanted to say next. Which was either a good thing or meant he was about to lie through his teeth.

“I once did attempt to erase myself from the chronicles, only I tried too hard to be clever about it,” Methos explained. “I joined the Watchers to filch the sketches of myself and I fabricated evidence that the name 'Methos' was merely an alias of some other long since decapitated Immortal. Archiving my chronicle in the closed collection raised no suspicions. I stopped using my real name, however centuries later it occurred to me that I neglected to search for my name and description in other Immortals' chronicles written after I supposedly died.”

“Someone might find you recorded more recently, be curious looking you up and realize your chronicle couldn't belong to the guy in the archive,” said Joe. “You then infiltrated us again, didn't you?”

“Yes,” Methos admitted. “I was pleased to find that, in the intervening years, no one connected my recent identities to my chronicle yet. Still, I felt the need to rectify what I thought of as 'my error' by subtly damaging pages describing me with a smudge or watermark. A task I never finished, despite devoting years to reading chronicles and editing copies in regional headquarters. There was one thing I did not take into account...”

“Memories,” Amy answered.

“Precisely,” Methos said in self reproach. “If I'd only let the other books be, perhaps my chronicle would remain archived, short and insignificant. Instead, I drew attention to my name by its sudden absence from a chronicle that someone recalled their grandparents reading to them or some such. The Watchers examined all the other chronicles for signs of tampering. Every single one.”

Amanda's predictable response was to ask, “Were you caught?”

“Of course not. Because my efforts were so widespread, they instead pointed fingers at a recently deceased Watcher, blaming him for 'mistakenly' ordering others to correct 'discrepancies' involving the name Methos in the chronicles.”

MacLeod looked skeptical and said, “That's rather lucky for you. What about when no one admitted to following the non-existent order?”

“Declared mercy on those who'd only followed orders to save face. Probably never crossed their minds that an Immortal might be hiding as a Watcher. No, the worst that happened was in the process of pulling my 'misfiled' chronicle out of the archive they discovered I was the oldest of us still living... something I was not aware of myself at the time.”

“I wondered how that legend spread,” said Amanda. “Bragging about your age isn't like you.”

“I assure you, there was no boasting on my part, but someone did within the next few centuries. Or at least, that is about when I began hearing other Immortals discussing 'Methos the oldest' – to my shock. Then the impersonations began. I don't know why they believed their agenda was worth risking their lives. You'd think the first to lose his head pretending to be me would be the end of it.”

MacLeod tried not to laugh and said, “Those impersonators are probably why most Immortals believe you're a myth.”

“Ironic that us mortals weren't fooled,” Joe commented.

“Well, I learned not to take extreme measures when dealing with the Watchers. It backfires - like these.”

From one of the bags he'd left on the floor near the table, Methos began handing out brightly wrapped tubes.

“Crackers!” Amy exclaimed in delight.

Though she was the only one at the table to have grown up with the Christmas crackers tradition, even Joe knew the little gifts would contain paper hats, cringe worthy jokes and possibly tiny bottles of something alcoholic rather than toys, knowing the giver.

“Merry Christmas,” said Methos.

...o0o...


End file.
